His Words

I heard him come out of my mouth last week.

Same tone. Same dead certainty.

I was talking to someone I cared about

and suddenly I was him—

the same impatience,

the same way of cutting off a sentence

before it gets too soft.

I didn't even know it was happening

until it was done.

The person I was talking to looked at me different.

Like I'd aged. Like something had changed.

I went to the mirror later.

My face was still my face.

But the voice was his.

It still is.